Normal?
In her column that I wrote about the other day, Gail Collins said, “Jessica Valenti… worries that in the real world, young men are spending so much time watching pornography on the Internet that they will never be satisfied with normal women and normal relationships.” That line has come up in my brain several times since, and the reason, I think, is that the idea of “normal” seems problematic when it comes to female/male relationships among humans.
Ms Valenti is probably not lamenting the loss of the “normal” relationship of 100 years ago in this country, nor is she promoting the idea of normal that still prevails in large parts of the world: “Me Tarzan, You Jane.” Whatever her own notion of normal is, it is apparently different from what she sees as an emerging trend: men either comparing women to porn stars physically, or wanting nothing more or less in a relationship than the “wham, bam, thank you, mam” of the pornographic kind. “Oh the times, they are a changin’,” and this change is not to her liking.( I seem to be writing in quotations, today.)
Some of my own observations were recently written in “Healthful Ejaculation,” and since I don’t consider myself “normal” in any conventional sense, I think I’ll offer a few more, just for comparison with what you may imagine Ms Valenti’s are.
A little personal history, for perspective: (You might not want the kids reading this over your shoulder.) I had a brief affair with a Berkeley feminist, 25+ years ago, and once she called and invited me over, telling me later that I was her 40th birthday present to herself, (more on that later). In post-coital, joint-smoking conversation she said, “I know it’s chauvinistic to say, but you’ve developed your feminine side more than most men.”
Well of course, I haven’t developed my feminine side; it was developed by the life that was given to me, which is, of course, a long story.
A shorter story: I was at the Sutro Bath House one night, at least as long ago as the birthday story, when I was most fortunate to have the company of an amazing woman. I had eaten a hit of acid earlier in the evening, and was smoking the usual pot, so I was a little spacier than usual–not as sharp as I might have liked for a woman of her caliber. We were talking after the action had quieted down a bit, and she said, “I intimidate most men.”
“Why’s that?” I said, “Because you’re a banker?”
“No,” she answered, “Because I like to fuck. Most women don’t like to fuck.”
She did seem to enjoy the actual in-and-out more than anyone I’d ever met, and I said, “Well, you’re right, at least in my experience.”
“Is that why you give such good head?” she asked.
“Maybe so, maybe so…” You can see how quick-witted I was in my “heightened” state. I don’t remember much after that, except that I asked for her phone number, which she declined. I doubt that I could have kept up her pace, anyway.
So in my experience, most women only get interested in sex about once a month, unless they are in the relationship-procurement state. With guys, it seems to be a question of time: how long has it been since the last time; there seems to be some built-in clock… This is not science, folks, this is anecdotal information to stimulate cogitation.
In the small town in the South where I grew up in the 50’s, things were way different than they are now, and I had realized early on that women weren’t driven by the same kind of lust I was: a guy had to meet a lot of stringent requirements before that kind of activity was allowed, if ever. There was a time when I greatly resented that, and translated it to mean that my sexual apparatus was considered physically dirty and repulsive–in many cases, an accurate translation. It took years to understand that it wasn’t personal; that women had their own physiology and history to deal with, and none of it was anyone’s fault.
In the meantime, I learned a couple of strategies for coping with things as they were: I learned to talk, and I learned how to give good head. I learned to pay attention to people, to their reactions, in both the conversational and sexual realms. I learned how to make people feel comfortable, relaxed, and that if I gave them a pleasurable experience, they were grateful and wanted to reciprocate: ladies first, always. Whether they reciprocated or not was optional: I made it clear that it was enough that I made them feel good; that I enjoyed the sensuality for its own sake, which was true–another lesson I learned. That was the approach my life led me into–no credit taken, or blame.
So that’s how I got to be a birthday present more than once: give without expectations and you shall receive in the giving itself, and perhaps in other ways as well.
Gross over-generalizations follow: It is lamentable, from many points of view, that girls and boys are so different. Perhaps some of the differences would be lessened if we could eliminate professional sports somehow, but I’m afraid testosterone would assert itself some other way. Women are always going to want kids, and help raising them, unless their hormonal balances are altered.
Maybe that’s the solution to male/female compatibility: estrogen for the boys, testosterone for the girls. In the meantime, I think talking openly about our physiologically and culturally built-in tendencies can help.
One thing is certain: things will continue to change.
Looks Normal To Me
